


reflect

by lesbianpatrick



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angst, Coma, Crack, Crack Fic, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oh and Also, Sharing a Body, but that's later on, i guess, in this story, is that even a tag though, just read it ok, most definitely crack, that happens, that's a thing, what the fuck do i tag this, yeah that too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 06:41:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7034071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianpatrick/pseuds/lesbianpatrick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete gapes. “I-<em>Patrick</em>?”</p>
<p>“No, Bill Murray.” Patrick replies, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Yes, Patrick.”</p>
<p>“You’re in a coma.” Pete says slowly. </p>
<p>“No, my body is in a coma. I’m currently rooming in yours. Sorry.” Patrick shrugs like this is nothing, like it happens every day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I DONT KNOW
> 
> You all have Crescent to thank for this. This is her fault.
> 
> Well, actually, I came up with the idea, and she fueled the fire.
> 
> So thanks to my cool fanfic e-mail buddy, this is the first idea of ours that I actually wrote. Fun.
> 
> So, then...enjoy...?

The moment in which it had been happened had been strange. 

Patrick hadn’t been feeling that good, but he insisted that he could do one more show before the week-long tour break, so of course Pete had listened to him. He didn’t think Patrick would lie about that.

Well, apparently he would, because Pete had watched as his friend fainted onstage, mid-song. He’d immediately stopped playing and ran over, screaming something he doesn’t remember the details of. In that small moment, he’d gotten a weird twist in his gut, but it could’ve just been horror at seeing Patrick unconscious on the ground.

He’d sat next to him in the back of the ambulance (no one had tried to stop him), stroking Patrick’s hair rhythmically as they went. At the hospital, he’d been forced to sit in the waiting room, told that he couldn’t stay with Patrick anymore. He hated that. What if something was really, seriously, wrong with Patrick? He wanted to be the first to know.

Now Pete sits there, flipping through some sports magazine that he couldn’t care less about. He honestly doesn’t care who the fuck is still playing for the Seattle Seahawks, but burying is face in a huge picture of a hot quarterback is better than letting himself think about how badly hurt Patrick could be.

Finally, a nurse with her hair and her nose up high steps in, and says to Pete, “You’re here for Mr. Stump, correct?”

Pete nods frantically, ignoring the weird looks that everyone (including Andy and Joe across the room) is giving him. “Is he okay?”

The nurse sighs, and her face says “sorry” while her smile says “yes”. “Well, he isn’t going to die if that’s what you’re asking. He didn’t hit his head, and he hasn’t contracted any life-threatening illnesses. However...” The nurse gives him a pitiful look, pausing for him to react.

Pete chews on his lip nervously, ignoring the metallic taste of blood and daring to ask, “However...?”

“However...” The nurse continues, “He is in a coma.”

“He’s _what_?” Pete jumps up, now at eye level with the nurse.

“We don’t know what’s caused it, because he’s in completely stable condition and he was only dehydrated in the first place, but yes, he is in a coma.”

Pete gapes at her. That can’t be right. They need Patrick. Part of him wants to remember that hey, Patrick is still alive, that’s a good thing, but the other part points out that Patrick is unconscious and will be for who knows how long. Pete won’t be able to talk to him, to hang out with him, to hear him sing...

“Fuck.” Pete says, quietly because they’re in a public place and he has at least some decency, probably.

“I’m sorry, we really don’t know what’s causing it.” The nurse sighs.

Pete sits back down, somewhat in shock. No, no, Patrick can’t be in a coma, that can’t be right. It can’t be.

He hardly notices that Joe and Andy have come over and are listening to the nurse re-explaining the situation. 

Andy puts a hand on his shoulder. “Pete, you should go stay in a hotel. Don’t sleep in the hospital waiting room, that’s weird.”

Pete shakes his head. “No, no, I’ll...just tonight, I promise I’ll only stay here tonight. I just...if he...”

“Okay, just tonight.” Andy agrees reluctantly. “But you can’t live in the hospital.”

“Right.” Pete says, not intending to actually follow through with that promise.

He is, however, forced to follow through the next day. After falling asleep in a cramped and uncomfortable waiting room chair, Andy wakes him up and tells him he has to go find a hotel. It takes a moment for him to remember why he’s here. When he remembers, he kind of wants to forget again. 

“You promised, Pete.” Andy says steadily, giving Pete a look just short of a glare. 

“I know, I know, but what if he...” Pete tries to give Andy puppy eyes, but he really should remember that that only ever works on Patrick.

“If Patrick wakes up, you’ll be the first one to know, okay?” Andy promises.

Pete sighs in defeat. “Okay, fine.”

Andy gives him a ride to the closest hotel (“It’s three miles away! Are you sure there are none closer?” “Yes, Pete, I am.” “Three miles!”), because he doesn’t trust Pete to drive himself right now. Pete doesn’t trust himself either, to be honest.

“He’ll be okay.” Andy promises him. Pete thinks he should stop making promises he can’t keep.

“He’d better be.” Pete replies, forcing a smile, and turning to check into the hotel.

The front desk clerk totally recognizes him, but does a good job of pretending not to until the point where he hands over the key to Pete’s room and says, “I’m sorry.”

News must travel really fast.

Pete forces another smile. “I’m sure he’ll be okay.”

The clerk nods sympathetically, and Pete leaves.

His room is nice for a small motel. The bed is actually clean and doesn’t creak, and nothing in the bathroom is broken. Pete keeps his head down the entire time, lost in thought. He goes to the bathroom and then turns on the faucet to wash his hands. He finally looks up to see the mirror, and, hang on, that’s not him.

Pete jumps back. His reflection doesn’t. Then again, his reflection isn’t him, either.

“Nice to see you, too.”

Pete gapes. “I- _Patrick_?”

“No, Bill Murray.” Patrick replies, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Yes, Patrick.”

“You’re in a coma.” Pete says slowly. 

“No, my body is in a coma. I’m currently rooming in yours. Sorry.” Patrick shrugs like this is nothing, like it happens every day.

“You-you’re what?” Pete asks, still staring at the mirror, where Patrick is nonchalantly rubbing his hands together.

“It’s confusing, to be honest.” Patrick answers, sighing. “And I’m not one-hundred percent sure what happened, but I know I fainted onstage and then I got this really weird feeling and I’m pretty sure I somehow ended up separated from my own body and then the next thing I knew I was in yours.” Patrick makes a strange, unreadable face. “It took me a second to realize that I was staring at myself, and that I couldn’t control my movements, but then I put two and two together, so. Yeah. Hi.”

“You.” Pete says after a long pause. “Are in. My body.”

“Yep.” Patrick replies, and pops the “p”.

“And...you’re in the mirror instead of my reflection...why?” Pete continues, raising an eyebrow.

“Hell if I know.” Patrick shrugs. “Honestly, I’m just surprised you haven’t noticed me yet.’

Pete groans. “Oh, tell me you haven’t been my reflection the whole time.”

“Yeah, I kind of have, though.” Patrick says in response. His face shows some form of sympathy, though Pete doesn’t know what about this situation Patrick could be sympathetic about.

“I’m going to be sick.” Pete announces, even though he doesn’t feel sick at all.

“No you aren’t.” Patrick says.

“Calling my bluff, are you?” Pete asks, raising an incredulous eyebrow.

Patrick laughs, but he doesn’t look like he actually thinks anything is funny. “See, the thing is, I’d know if you really felt sick.”

Pete frowns. That’s...a bit creepy. “Well.”

There’s a short period of silence where Pete looks at anything but the mirror, because then he can pretend that he’s the only one inhabiting his own body, thank you very much.

“What you _are_ is tired.” Patrick suddenly says, breaking the silence.

Pete crosses his arms. “This is an invasion of personal privacy.”

“There isn’t such a thing as personal privacy anymore, sorry.” Patrick shakes his head, and Pete is kind of angry because he’s right.

He sighs and leans back against the wall, arms still crossed over his chest. “Fuck this. Why me? Why can’t someone else get stuck sharing their body?”

“Why would I know?” Patrick shrugs. “I mean, at least I’m just your reflection, right? I can’t exactly _do_ anything, can I?”

Pete sighs in defeat. Patrick’s got a point. “Okay, yeah. Fine. You’re right.”

Patrick smiles softly and genuinely. “Really, you need sleep. That waiting room chair was not a good bed.”

Pete almost asks how Patrick knew about sleeping in the hospital waiting room, but, oh right, _he was in his body with him, what the fuck._

“Pete?”

Pete is startled back to reality. Patrick looks a bit worried. “Oh. Sorry. Mind wandering. Uh, right. I’ll sleep.”

“Good.” Patrick looks pleased with this. “Listen, I know that this is confusing. We’ll deal with it in the morning, okay?”

“Right. Okay.” Pete agrees, though he doesn’t really agree. He’d like to pretend that this isn’t happening, actually, but that most likely won’t happen.

“Sleep well, then.” Patrick says.

“Sure, mom.” Pete jokes, and Patrick rolls his eyes.

“Go to bed.” He says, smiling softly at Pete from the mirror, which is still a bit of a trip.

Without another word, Pete nods and leaves the room. He settles into bed, pressing the side of his face into a pillow and hoping that everything will be normal again in the morning.

He still knows that that won’t happen, though.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im gonna scream 
> 
> you know how long it's been since chapter one
> 
> you know how long
> 
> OVER A FUCKING YEAR
> 
> i've been procrastinating on this for OVER A YEAR, and i just spit this entire chapter out this morning, in one go.
> 
> uh, anyway. enjoy!

In all honesty, Pete forgot when he first woke up.

He got out of bed, made his way to the bathroom, and did a double-take at the mirror.

“You forgot, didn’t you?” Patrick asks, sighing and rolling his eyes.

“Shut up,” Pete replies, glaring. “It’s too early for this.”

“It’s 10 am,” Patrick informs him matter-of-factly.

“I repeat: it is too early for this,” Pete mutters, glaring a final time and leaving the bathroom.

It takes a moment for Pete to register the reason for the sudden silence. He groans and stalks back into the bathroom.

“Okay, fuck you,” he says, pointing at Patrick.

Patrick raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Fuck,” Pete repeats, then immediately leaves the bathroom again, deciding that he is not going to go back and talk to Patrick at least for the rest of the day.

Instead, despite it being late morning, he gets back into bed and falls asleep curled up under the covers.

~*~

Pete can’t sleep.

He’d rested for a few hours earlier, but now he’s struggling to find sleep again. A quick glance at the clock tells him that it’s past midnight. He groans and rolls over. Normally, he’d call Patrick and, through whatever means necessary, get him to sing something, but he really doesn’t want to have to sleep in the bathroom, and he doesn’t have any other mirror, so...

And this is how Pete ends up walking down the street at one in the morning, to go to the store and buy a mirror.

He’s glad the streets are empty, because it means no one else can see that the person reflected in the glassy shop windows as he walks past isn’t him.

“Pete, what the fuck are you doing?” Patrick asks as Pete strolls briskly down the street.

Pete ignores him. He quickly comes to a 24/7 shop that’s still open. The light streaming out through the windows destroys their reflective quality. Patrick disappears. 

Inside, the store looks like a mad scientist’s cross between a department store and Target. One of the signs hanging from the ceiling reads “Home Improvement”, and Pete assumes that’s probably where he’ll find mirrors.

He assumes correctly; in fact, there’s an entire aisle filled with mirrors of every size, shape, color, and design. And Patrick is in all of them.

“What the _fuck_ ,” he repeats.

Pete ignores him again in favor of surveying the mirror options. He wants something small, but not too small, preferably one he can set upright on his nightstand, and maybe one with a nice design. If he must choose a mirror to trap Patrick in, it could stand to at least be a nice one.

“Pete, it’s like one in the morning and you’re going shopping!” Patrick exclaims, sounding for all the world like he’s offended by it.

“Mhm,” Pete agrees, and adds a short nod of acknowledgement to ensure that Patrick knows he knows what he’s doing.

His eyes fall on a mirror about the size of an average picture frame, with an intricate design of interwoven silver vines around the edge. Like a picture frame, it also has a piece in back that lets it stand on its own. Pete is sold.

“Pete, really, what are you doing?”

Pete grabs the mirror. “Shouldn't you know? You can see through my eyes, right?”

“Not when I’m stuck in a mirror!” Patrick replies, glaring. “I can’t see two things at the same time!”

“Hm,” Pete says thoughtfully, putting that information away for future reference. 

“Pete!” Patrick says insistently as Pete pulls the mirror off the shelf and carries it towards the cashier.

“Shut up,” he hisses. “I’m gonna buy this. Don’t get noticed.”

Patrick huffs and crosses his arms, but listens.

Pete walks up to the lady working the cash register. She looks as tired as he is, so he hopes she won’t notice anything weird.

“How can I help you?” she practically yawns out when Pete approaches.

Pete hands her the mirror, turning it so the reflective surface is facing away from him, so Patrick can’t reflect into it. “Just this, thanks.”

“Mhm.” The woman nods sleepily. She rings him up, and hands him the receipt and the mirror in a plastic bag.

“Thank you,” Pete says, accepting his purchase.

“Have a great night,” she mutters tiredly. Pete feels sorry for her. He hopes her shift ends soon.

He strolls out of the shop with his bag in hand, and starts to make his way back to the hotel. It seems to have somehow gotten colder since he entered the shop, and icy wind hits him straight in the face as he presses on. When he gets back, he’s nearly freezing, and he’s thankful his hotel room has good heating.

Pete pulls the mirror out of the bag and props it up on the nightstand. Patrick glares back at him.

“Okay, seriously, why did you just go out and do that?” he asks, holding his heavy glare.

Pete shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep. Wanted you to sing for me. Didn’t want to sleep in the bathroom.”

“Pete, you’re a fucking idiot,” Patrick says, but his glare has fallen.

Pete climbs into bed, happy to say that even when he lays down his reflection remains in the mirror, which means Patrick is still there. 

“So...” he prompts.

“Fine,” Patrick relents, and begins to sing.

Pete doesn’t even pay attention to what Patrick is singing. He just lets it wash over him as he drifts into sleep.

~*~

When Pete wakes up, he looks into the mirror and finds that Patrick is still asleep in there. He wonders what it’s like to be trapped in a mirror like that. He assumes Patrick can walk around whatever part of the room the mirror reflects, because he’s ended up asleep in the reflected version of Pete’s bed, but that’s still far from freedom.

“Hey, Patrick,” he says.

Patrick stirs, but doesn’t wake up.

“Patrick,” Pete repeats.

Patrick rolls over and groans, but doesn’t respond.

“Pattyc-”

“Finish that nickname and you’re _dead_ , Wentz.”

Pete grins. “Good morning!”

“Go fuck yourself,” Patrick says courteously. “What exactly are you doing waking me up this early?”

“It’s ten,” Pete informs him, happy to flip Patrick’s argument from yesterday back over to him. Then he continues, more seriously, “I wanted to ask you what it’s like being stuck there.”

Patrick looks like the question has caught him off guard. “Huh?”

“What’s it like being stuck in the mirror?” Pete elaborates, wondering if maybe he shouldn’t have asked.

Patrick bites his lip, and looks a bit reluctant, but he answers anyway. “Oh. Well...it’s weird. For one thing, I don’t really have spatial awareness. Uh...by which I mean, I can see from my own eyes in here, but I still _feel_ you...not in a creepy way, it’s not like I can stop it. I can move around within the reflection, I guess, but anything not currently being reflected into the mirror is just darkness I can’t go into.”

“You can see out of it, though, right?” Pete asks, frowning.

“Yeah, but that bit’s a little harder to describe.” Patrick shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s not like any of this makes sense in the first place.”

Pete’s face sets into an expression of determination. “Patrick?” he asks.

“Yeah?” Patrick responds, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m going to get you out of there,” Pete promises.

He doesn’t want to see Patrick stuck like this. He’s going to get him out, and back into his own body.

He _will_.


End file.
